


Hand in Hand

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Anxiety, Call the Midwife 2019 CS, F/M, Fix It Fic, relationship, war neurosis, working through things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: The CtM 2019 CS seemed to have a lot of holes in the Patrick/Turnadette story.  This is my attempt to fill in those holes and make sense of what felt too rushed and incomplete for me.  Set during their time in the Outer Hebrides, Patrick deals with his anxiety as I try to make sense of his desire to move and Shelagh's refusal to speak of the idea with him.  I've used episode dialogue in places to try and fit my idea of what happened before and after certain scenes.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 32
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas evening, after this special, I sat down and made some notes for this fic. 2020 got a bit in my way with writing the story, but after encouragement from friends, I did it! Thanks so much to Fourteen-Teacups for being an amazing beta and for her insight into the story. Thanks also to My-Little-Yellowbird and Wednesdaygilfillian for their notes and interest even as I probably talked this fic to death! Much love to y'all!! <333333

It was the cough that worried him. He stayed awake at night, watching her sleep, listening to each sniffle and wheeze that came from her flu-ravaged body. She had shooed him away with the stethoscope more than once, dismissing his fears of pneumonia. “My lungs are clear, Patrick,” she’d say, resolute as one could be with a red nose, blood-shot eyes, and that dreadful cough.

Her words did not soothe him. The last time she said that she had no symptoms, she had been very sick. When his eyes did droop, between coughing fits of his own, he would dream of taking her to the Sanitorium, leaving her to walk in alone. She didn’t look back. His pain was the same as it had been before, only now he held Teddy in his arms as Angela and May called to their Mummy, whilst Timothy leaned from the window and shouted for Sister Bernadette.

Waking in a cold sweat, his forehead pounding not from the flu but from his memories, he did not wake her. She was not coughing and instead, he turned in their bed and watched her chest rise and fall. He remembered Marianne’s labored breathing at her last. His heart clenched, but Shelagh’s breath was even, if still congested. Clenching his hands, he tried to warm his own clammy skin, reaching out to feel her breath against his palm. He watched her and slept in fits and starts until suddenly it was morning and the night’s worries melted under the light of the winter sun.

\--

The children had escaped the flu. Nanny and Mrs. Buckle had seen to them for a few nights. With Timothy away at school, the house was strangely quiet. He and Shelagh had never truly been alone in their marital home for any real length of time, and the lack of children and their chatter was disquieting. Shelagh fretted over May’s resilience in the face of the new disruption to her life. He called Mrs. Buckle and spoke with the girls, relaying their messages to Shelagh, who napped in front of the fire. “Mrs. Buckle says we’re to see Santa Claus!” May sounded delighted. “If we’re very good little girls, he may give us a peppermint stick!” Angela was quieter, asking if Mummy felt well enough to make her reindeer antlers for the nativity. “Mummy’s working on them,” he assured, hanging up after a ‘bye-bye’ from Teddy. 

Shelagh’s eyes were moist. “I cannot keep a thought in my head long enough to finish the antlers,” she murmured, falling asleep with the fabric resting atop her.

Taking up the needle, Patrick intended to begin the project, but his own eyes were weak and runny. He rested in the chair, wondering who might help Shelagh with the sewing. He thought of Miss Higgins, remembering her offer to help as she had seen him out of the surgery the afternoon of his diagnosis. She’d held a tissue to her nose, as if warding off any germs. He couldn’t blame her. The flu was hell at any age, but seemed far harder on him now than it ever had done before. And Shelagh…

He rang the surgery. “Miss Higgins,” he said, “I wondered how everything was.” Leaving the practice in the hands of such a young doctor had been of some concern to him, but with such short notice, he couldn’t choose to be picky. 

“I am only prepared to say Dr. Mokachi is proving receptive to direction,” Miss Higgins answered, gentle humor in her voice. 

Relieved, he turned to Shelagh as she coughed from the couch. “Can I ask a favor?” He tightened his hand on the receiver. “Shelagh needs help with some antlers.”

“Of course, Doctor Turner,” she said, and he could hear her scratching out a note at her desk blotter. “If you would leave them in a box by your door, I shall see what I can do!” 

“Thank you, Miss Higgins.” He opened his mouth to wish her a good evening, when she interrupted. 

“If I may say, Dr. Mokachi may benefit from time shadowing a senior doctor. Being as receptive as he is to suggestion, he may be interested in finding an expanded role in your surgery. In my view it is never too early to think on retirement!”

Miss Higgins could be blunt. Generally Shelagh was more perturbed by her attitude than he was, but the comment bothered him. “I believe Mokachi is intending to work in the West End,” he said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “Good evening, Miss Higgins.”

Returning to his chair, he thought of the healthy young doctor seeing to his patients. The disquieting thought remained in the back of his mind as he settled into a doze.

\--

Teddy began to cry as he saw Shelagh, reaching for her and burying his face in her neck. “They’ve been better ‘an gold, Mrs. Turner,” Nanny said, smiling and gently nudging May and Angela forward. 

“Did you finish the antlers, Mummy?” Angela seemed anxious. Next to her, May nodded solemnly. 

“Oh,” Shelagh leaned forward to hug each child in turn. “Not yet, but they’ll be ready on time. There isn’t a thing to worry over!”

“Are you still sick, Mummy?” May twisted her hands in her cardigan.

“Only just, but feeling much better!” Shelagh’s voice sounded stronger and he rushed to add his own reassurances to their daughters. 

The children brightened the house immediately, their little running feet and high voices helping to shed the stillness of the sick days. Shelagh dressed and ran a comb through her hair. Patrick looked to his closet but placed his dressing gown over his pyjamas instead, still preferring the loose clothing and feeling of home they engendered. As the evening grew longer, he settled into his favorite chair, watching as Teddy tried to keep up in play with his sisters. The merry glow of the fairy lights seemed to enchant them, as they grinned and giggled, playing happily. Chuckling at their antics, he looked to Shelagh, to find her smiling softly. He released a sigh, feeling as if they had turned a corner and that all would be well once more. Standing from his chair, he stretched before warming his hands at the fire, happy to be rid of the flu’s febrility. 

The ringing doorbell surprised him. They were all in for the evening, the fire lit. “Whoever could that be?” Shelagh asked, beginning to stand. He held his hand out and went to the door himself, stuttering in surprise to find Mother Mildred at their step. “Mother Mildred!” He held open the door. 

“What brings you out this cold evening?” His stomach bunched, the anxiety that had begun to ease igniting into a flare.

“Oh!” The Mother Superior laughed gaily, tilting her head with a mischievous grin. “Dr. Turner! I thought I would check in on you and your good wife! Nonnatus House is on the mend and I thought the pair of you might be, too. And, whilst I am here, I might bend your ears on a certain calling I’ve heard for some time, though I did not understand its importance until now!”

Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, Patrick plastered a smile on his face. “Of course!” He gestured toward the sitting room. “Shelagh and the children are just here. I’m not certain if you’ve heard but our eldest is away at school.”

“Ah, yes! An important year for the lad!” She entered into the sitting room, waving her hand as Shelagh stood. “No need to stand on ceremony! I’ll settle in nicely here!” She eased into a chair and smiled at the children. “All at play! What a lovely sight!”

“Yes,” Shelagh said, pressing her lips together. “We were very lucky that the Buckles and Nanny were able to keep them for a few nights so that we might convalesce. They’ve only returned home.”

“Convalescence,” Mother Mildred said, leaning forward in her seat, “is exactly what I wish to speak to you about!”

Patrick furrowed his brow. “You’ve had a calling toward…. convalescents?”

“No!” Mother Mildred favored him with her enigmatic smile. “I’ve had a calling that will take us to the Outer Hebrides!”

\--

“The Hebrides!” Shelagh lowered her voice as May looked up at her. Mother Mildred had only just left, imploring them to reach out with a decision by morning. “We’ve barely recovered from the flu! The children only just came back. It’s nearly Christmas! Timothy’s coming home!”

Patrick nodded absently. His mind cast back three years to a similar discussion on leaving after the holidays for South Africa. That trip had changed their lives, and the lives of the people who relied upon Hope Mission. “It is only ten days,” he mused, looking at Teddy as he laughed with his sisters. “The fresh air would be good for your…” he paused. “ _Our_ lungs.”

Shelagh pressed her lips together, not missing his poorly-placed emphasis. “Patrick, my lungs are clear. And we’ll not be convalescing if we’re to go! We’ll be running abandoned clinics and sleeping with the sheep!” She paused to wipe at her nose with her hankie. “Yet if the only doctor and nurse-midwife have left…”

“Ran off to the mainland to marry,” he teased, moving from his chair to sit next to her by the fire. “I don’t suppose we’d have that problem on this trip!” 

“Oh, Patrick, I cannot help but feel...” Shelagh dipped her head, mouth firmly set. 

He reached an arm to wrap around her shoulders, but she stiffened for a moment before relaxing. Her eyes were heavy, red-rimmed with dark circles underneath. The cough had eased over the last few evenings, but a weariness hung over her, as if the days in bed had done little to refresh her.

“We don’t have to go,” he murmured into her hair, even as the idea began to appeal to him. Shelagh could thrive in the fresh air and sunshine, so far away from the responsibilities of home. There was work to be done, but Mother Mildred had called it a ‘fact-finding mission’, promising time to convalesce. The idea of a change invigorated him, but he held back those thoughts, awaiting Shelagh’s reply. 

“There are so many things to undertake to be able to go!” She cleared her throat and pulled back from his shoulder to look at him. “But I understand having a calling that must be followed.” She laced their fingers together. 

“Then we’re going?” He squeezed her hand, looking at the children as they ran to the dolls’ house to continue their game. Teddy knocked into it with a yell and the girls gave indignant cries. 

“If you think Nonnatus House can survive the children.” A tiny smile played at Shelagh’s lips.

May and Angela began to replace the doll furniture. Just as quickly, Teddy would remove the pieces. The girls complained, jumping up as one to chase Teddy away from the house. Patrick tilted his head and looked at Shelagh. “Only just. It’s a good job we’ll be leaving on an evening train,” he mused with a grin. “We’ll be too far gone before the Sisters realize what they’ve taken on!” 


	2. Chapter 2

The days of travel preparation passed quickly. Shelagh washed and ironed. She packed the children’s toys and clothes. When she wasn't busy preparing, she would fret over their long journey and separation from the children. Patrick entertained the kids and picked up the dry-cleaning, folding his trousers into luggage that he knew Shelagh would eventually repack. Her eyes and congestion were clearing each day, but the packing and readying the children was extra work and wearying. He encouraged her to bed early each night, lying beside her in the darkness to listen to her breath and to regulate his own. His heart raced, thoughts of Shelagh and the trip, the children and the Surgery swirling in his mind until at last, exhausted, he would sleep.

Nonnatus House was busy the afternoon of their departure. The children ran about, hiding behind doors and laughing until the hired cars arrived to take the Nonnatun party to the station. Immediately Angela clung to his leg. He swung her up into his arms, kissing her soft cheek. “We’ll be home before you know it!” he promised, squeezing her until she laughed. 

She patted his face. “Mummy said you’re to help all the poorly people in the Hebrides!” She frowned. “But you help the poorly people here!”

“Right now the village we’re going to doesn’t have even one doctor!” He widened his eyes to make her laugh. “They only need help, just for a few days.” He pointed to his cheek. “Will you give me a kiss for good luck?” She kissed him quickly, making a smacking sound that made him chuckle. Next to him, Shelagh held May, consoling her with promises of a quick return. Shelagh reached a hand for Angela and he let her down, leaning in to tickle and kiss May. 

May clung to Shelagh but whispered a soft goodbye to him, before Teddy called to him from Sister Francis’s arms. He grinned and took his son, holding him up high in the air. “Be good for the Sisters,” he said, lowering him for a tight hug. Teddy nodded seriously. “Play,” he said, turning toward Sister Francis, who looked mildly terrified. Patrick laughed, handing Teddy off. “Good luck,” he said, as Shelagh launched into last minute reminders. 

He pulled her to their car and they both leaned from the window to wave at the children, all wearing bright smiles. His own smile broadened as they entered their train car sometime later. Shelagh seemed more like herself, the chapped nose and lips almost completely healed. He had no doubt the fresh air in the Hebrides would heal her further. He was ready for the adventure ahead and settled happily into his seat next to a smiling Shelagh. The evening hours passed into night as they laughed and joked with their colleagues. Though the children had woken them early, Patrick didn’t feel tired as night fell, excitement and interest keeping him awake. Mother Mildred studied a map of the village to one side of him, whilst Shelagh spoke to Sister Julienne, updating her on their health and the children.

“Still,” Sister Julienne said, leaning across from her seat to squeeze Shelagh’s hand. “You must be quite tired and I fear our accommodation doesn’t afford much space to rest!”

“We’ll manage.” Shelagh dipped her head. “I’m only relieved we’ve all shaken our coughs!”

Trixie laughed. “Coughing would make this car far less cozy!”

“Indeed!” Mother Mildred’s voice was booming, even at such a late hour. “You’ve all managed to heal quite well! Soon you shall feel much refreshed in the sea air and sunshine! Until then, however, I suggest we rest our eyes and weary heads. We’ve still hours ahead, though I feel my spirit moved ever closer!” With this pronouncement, she settled her head against the window-frame, easing her body against the wall.

Patrick looked to Shelagh with one brow raised.  _ That’s us told _ , he thought. She grinned as if she had heard his unspoken words. His stomach clenched at her loving smile. He shifted so that she could lean against his shoulder. As she rested and their colleagues dozed, he stayed awake through the long hours, impatient for journey’s end.

  
  


—

  
  


St. Faelan’s was lovely. It was also cold, dark, and damp. His spirits flagged, eyes immediately seeking Shelagh. The cold did not bode well for her recovery. He imagined her cough and broke away from the rest of the group, busy checking their shoes for animal dirt. Though they were all only shaking off the flu, Shelagh was the only one with compromised lungs. He intended to find a spot for her bunk that was warm and in an area with the most sunlight and least amount of damp air. Their sleeping arrangements had not occurred to him in the days of planning nor on the journey. There were partitions but not walls, and he half expected Mother Mildred to decree that he and Fred should sleep in the village, far from the nurses and midwives now looking around corners for their own sleeping accommodation. 

He found two bunks behind a tied-back curtain. A window was high in the wall, allowing light to shine over the stonework, dust motes dancing up and into the sunbeam. The bunks were small, utilitarian bed clothing folded neatly at the end of each. Their small room at Hope Lodge came to mind. There, too, had been twin beds that they had laughingly pushed together. The curtain didn’t offer much in the way of privacy, but he began to push the beds together anyway, knowing that they would both need warmth in the dark of the night.

“Oh,” Shelagh said, walking in as he was finishing with moving the small bed, “wait for the linen!” She took a sheet in hand and handed it to him, so that they could outfit the beds. When they finished, and he pushed the bed back into place, Shelagh looked around the small alcove. “Well, it is cozy,” she said, inspecting a small oil lamp. 

“Did you bring the bri-nylon?” He grinned, sitting to test the bed. 

“Patrick!” Shelagh looked toward the curtain. “The Sisters are one partition over, Fred beyond them, and the nurses across from us.” She smoothed a hand over her coat. “And it’s far too cold for bri-nylon,” she teased, eyes sparkling behind her lenses. “I brought thermals, jumpers and...” She sat next to him and lowered her voice, teasing out her accent. “...an Englishman to keep me warm.”

“Shelagh Turner!” He grinned, glad that she seemed to be enjoying herself now that they were in the Hebrides. He held out an arm to pull her close.

“Oh!” She scooted away. “Did I mention, the Englishman can also bring in the luggage?” She giggled quietly and began to ease a pillow into its case.

“You don’t want to walk to the van!” He made a pretense of grumbling as he stood.

“Didn’t you know, Patrick?” Shelagh’s smile was positively impish. “I’m here to convalesce.”

—

Morag Norrie puttered around the hall, speaking occasionally in Gaelic. She was pushy and distrustful, but it was obvious that she cared for the people of her village. Even as she cleaned, she watched the nurses and nuns closely and eventually a grudging respect seemed to fill her eyes as the hall was swiftly converted into a clinic not unlike the one at home in Poplar. Patrick helped in the placement of beds and screens before retreating to the box of medical supplies, ascertaining just what materials and medications he had to work with. The hospital in Stornoway could send more and fresh supplies, though it would take time, and so he sorted out packets of instruments and sterile plasters, noting that in those, at least, they had plenty to go around.

Intent on his task, he looked up at the sound of Shelagh’s laughter. Her head was bent with Trixie’s and they giggled together as they discovered a wrinkled nurse’s uniform in a box brought from the store. “Old-fashioned,” he heard Trixie say, and it jolted him to realize that he remembered nurses dressing in that style, when he was at medical school and then as a young doctor. Sleeves to the wrists and full skirts with large pinnies—this discarded dress seemed faded and worn. Thirty years certainty put the uniform out of date but the term ‘old fashioned’ grated over him, even as he stopped to appreciate Shelagh’s full smile. 

She had been so drawn and ill in Poplar, but now she was laughing a bit louder again, her skin once more rosy with health. He let his eyes linger longer than he would have at home. Shelagh seemed to feel his gaze and turned, meeting his smile with a slight frown and nod as if to say, ‘well, get on with it’. But then she pushed up her glasses and dipped her head with a smile, and his own smile grew.  The warmth of the shared moment stayed with him as he finished with the supplies, taking time to restock the medical bag he had brought with him. The case was becoming cracked, years of use wearing at the seams. Bright light entered through the high windows of the hall, illuminating the deterioration. The thought that perhaps he should send it for repair crossed his mind and he thought to ask Shelagh about it once they returned home. He touched the tatty leather. His hands looked just as worn and the thought stuttered him, but Mother Mildred’s voice rang out from behind, startling him.

“Ready for the off!” She smiled widely, nodding her head as she came abreast of him. “I knew well that you and your good wife would settle in quickly! The fresh air has already done a world of good!”

“It has,” he agreed, lowering his hands, the bag to his side. “That and having a new challenge, the ability to set things to rights.”

“Yes, Dr. Turner!” Mother Mildred grinned, looking around at the nearly completed hall. “That is the sort of spirit that is needed here should the Order take up the mission. The very remoteness of this village offers unique challenges — and opportunities! A vibrant, young doctor will be able to make his mark here, alongside the Sisters of Saint Raymond Nonnatus.” She settled into a chair before holding out a sheet of paper. “And that’s something I wished to speak with  _ you _ about!”

Patrick took the paper, reading over the typed lines. “This is the advertisement,” he said, looking to the nun. 

“Quite!” She laughed, looking around once more, eyes sparkling. “I thought you might have suggestions, given your experience! It seems that the job is practically for the taking! The system is ready—only a doctor is missing. The fellow must be ready for hard work, yes, but also for endless possibilities in building a practice and a life on this island!”

“Indeed,” he said, looking once more at the sheet of paper. “Might I keep this for the afternoon? I’ll make notes as needed.”

“Of course!” Mother Mildred nodded resolutely, turning her head as Sister Julienne called to her. “Take your time, Dr. Turner! And if you know any doctor interested in a change….” she grinned again, trailing off, before standing from her seat to walk toward Sister Julienne. 

He looked at the paper a moment longer, before placing it into his case. First he needed to compile a list of drugs, vaccines, and supplies that could be picked up from town. After that, he would spend some time looking over the advertisement.

  
  


—

  
  


As they packed up to go back to their lodgings, a young mother with a small lad poked her head inside the open door. “I heard there was some fuss in here, setting the medical practice back up,” she said, her straightforward words offset by her darting, nervous eyes. “It’s the lad, ye ken,” she said, nudging her son ahead of her. “A wee scrape it was,” she continued, pulling at his sleeve. “Now gone halfway up his arm!”

“Oh!” Shelagh placed her bag onto the floor. “Well, then, let’s be seeing about this!” She knelt down to the boy’s height. “What’s your name?”

“Thomas,” he whispered, holding out his arm. “Is it going to hurt, Nurse?”

“Not a bit.” She smiled at him, before looking to his mother. “We’re not completely set up, I’m afraid, Mrs…?”

“Murray,” she answered, setting a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “Should I take him away?”

“Oh, no!” Shelagh stood back to her full height. “I only wanted to explain our humble accommodation. I’m Nurse Turner, and this is my husband, Dr. Turner. We’ll be glad to look at your son’s arm. I’m afraid there does appear to be the beginnings of an infection, though we’ll have him fixed up in a jiffy!”

“Right this way, Mrs. Murray,” Patrick said, motioning toward the table so that Shelagh might examine the boy’s arm whilst he sorted antibiotic treatment. He nodded to Valerie and Trixie as they continued outside to the van with the nuns. As he looked through his bag, he heard the young lad laughing as Shelagh carefully cleaned his wound. He thought back to another young boy with a scraped arm and couldn’t help but smile as he set out a course of antibiotics. 

After finishing with Thomas, Shelagh gave Mrs. Murray instructions to seek them out the next day if the redness around the abrasion worsened. 

Mrs. Murray nodded. “I thank you. Would you be having a mothers and babies clinic, as well?” Her hand dropped to her stomach. “Our last nurse left before I suspected I was in the family way again.”

Patrick grinned. “We will!” He gave a flyer to Mrs. Murray. “Come and see us bright and early on Tuesday, and bring Thomas, too. We’ll give him a check-up, and perhaps a….” he pulled a lolly from his pocket. The boy laughed in delight, but looked at his mother and waited for her nod before accepting.

“It’s good to have medical care back on the island,” Mrs. Murray said, urging her son toward the door. “Thank you, Nurse Turner. Doctor.”

The hall was quiet as the small family left. Shelagh turned to Patrick. “We forget how lucky we are to have antibiotics!” She threaded her arm through his as he turned out the lights. “It’s wonderful to help to set things to rights.”

“I said that to Mother Mildred only today. It is wonderful.” 

“I’m happy we’re here,” she said, stepping ahead of him and out of the door. 

He closed up the clinic and turned to her, heart skipping at the sight she made, fresh and pretty in her uniform, clear-eyed, and smiling. Falling into step with her, his grin stretched wide. “So am I.”

  
  


—

After the evening meal, Shelagh sat at the table with the nurses as the nuns prepared for Compline. Patrick settled into a chair near a lamp, taking out the copy of the job application. Shelagh’s laughter drew his eyes, and he found that she and her fellow nurses were recounting their day. He smiled at them before looking back to the paper, taking out his pen to make notes. The advertisement was standard, though the words were meant to embolden a young doctor to escape to the Hebrides, to lay down roots of a practice and, potentially, a family.

Patrick thought of the job ad that brought him to Poplar. It had been similar, tempting doctors away from the West End or outer London, offering the chance to build a practice for those with the greatest need. And he had been tempted, showing the advertisement to Marianne as she sought to restore order to their home after the upheaval of 1945. He thought now that she had responded in the affirmative only due to the return of light and interest in his eyes. He had needed a change and so had she, the years of war and constant departures and returns wearing at the both of them. 

He felt a similar pulse in his blood now. Poplar was changing. Medicine had done what he knew it could do: it had brought a measure of control into the lives of those he cared for. Women queued around the building for birth control. Fewer babies were being born. Only the month before the Maternity Home had sat empty for two full days. Shelagh had taken the opportunity to deep clean, but it had concerned him, worried that perhaps he was no longer needed by the community. But here, in the Outer Hebrides, he could see that same opportunity that had once drawn him to the East End of London. With the experience of running his practice and maternity home, and the help from the Sisters of Saint Raymond Nonnatus, there could be a chance to offer similar care to the people of the village. 

Angela, May, and Teddy could grow up playing near the ocean, in clean, fresh air, Timothy could intern with the new practice, and Shelagh… he looked at the table to see her smiling at him. He grinned, feeling cheeky enough to offer a small wink. Shelagh’s eyes widened and her cheeks went pink, but she seemed pleased, giving him the smile that was meant only for him. She was happy in Scotland. They both thrived on purpose and giving. The advertisement seemed almost meant for him. For them. His heart raced and his mind whirled. Turning the page, he began to take notes, allowing his imagination to run free, picturing a future for he and his family in the Outer Hebrides. 

—

  
  


Clouds rolled in the next morning as Patrick looked again at the list of drugs and supplies he and Shelagh planned to pick up in town. 

Shelagh clucked her tongue as she put together sandwiches for an improvised breakfast picnic at the seaside. “I double-checked it last night.”

“I suppose I’m just excited to head down to the beach,” he admitted. “Though I wish it were as sunny as it was yesterday.”

Smiling, Shelagh nodded toward the door. “You’re like the children, looking out to the adventure ahead! Go on!” She placed a sandwich into a basket. “I’ll be just a moment behind!”

With a grateful smile, Patrick left St. Faelan’s, crossing the road to the path that led to the beach. It was cold and he rubbed his gloved hands together, but excitement burned within him. The island was lovely, and as he stepped into the sand, he could well imagine the children running ahead of him, stopping in awe at the cold waves of water that lapped at the beach. 

The sea was gorgeous, the wind cold and clean, even under the cloudy sky. Now that he had felt the call to the island, it seemed less foreign than it had before, a place in which he could imagine a future. He turned at Shelagh’s approach, forehead creasing as he noticed her attire. “Why didn’t you put your wellies on?”

“Because we are heading to town to collect a significant quantity of drugs, vaccines and other medical supplies and I’m of the view that office wear is more appropriate.” Shelagh set down their picnic supplies.

Smiling at her sensibilities, he looked back to the water. “This is like nowhere else I’ve ever been on Earth.” He couldn’t stop looking out over the ocean. It mesmerized, calmed, and excited him all at once. His heart raced in his chest.

“Do you wish the children could see it?” Shelagh sounded wistful.

“I wish the children could  _ live _ it,” he said, smiling broadly as he turned to Shelagh. The thought of relocating had played through his mind all evening and into the early morning, but he had held off discussing it with her until they could be alone. Given her happiness at their work on the island, he expected her to smile, but her face fell instead.

“What? You mean move here?”

“The island needs a doctor — permanently! ” He moved closer to her as her face twisted into confusion and surprise. Holding his palm up, he thought to give her the facts before she stopped him. He had imagined their conversation in the night, but she was not reacting as he thought she might. “The vacancy’s already advertised, and Mother Mildred says--”

Shelagh’s hand raised. “I don’t want to know what Mother Mildred says! What I do want to know is how she manages to wrap half the men of Poplar around her little finger.”

Patrick recoiled. “It isn’t just the men,” he snapped. Only a year before Mother Mildred had instructed Shelagh to speak to him about a significant change to their lives. “She wrapped  _ you _ round her little finger and we ended up with our fourth child!”

“May changed our lives for the better.” Shelagh’s lips pursed.

“ _ Change  _ changes our lives for the better!” he implored. “We’re a family that thrives on it!” He sighed. “We don’t stay still, Shelagh.” 

“No, we don’t,” Shelagh agreed. “And that’s why we’re needed in Poplar! With every year that passes we’re faced with some new crisis and some new way of putting things to rights. The system is improving all the time.”

“There’s a good system here. They just don’t have anyone to run it for them.”

Shelagh set out the blanket. “I’m not even going to discuss it with you.”

Patrick sighed, turning back to the water. He felt overwhelmed and his racing heart began to beat loudly in his ears. Shelagh had always been ready for change, first in leaving the Order, and then in adopting Angela, and May… So often she had told him of her call to the religious life and then her call to leave it, to begin anew with him and Tim. Confused as to why she wouldn’t even discuss moving, he turned back to the blanket. “I thought you were happy here. Just yesterday--”

“Just yesterday I thought we were happy in Poplar, Patrick.” Shelagh exhaled and set her lips into a line. She gestured to the basket. “Now eat your sausage sarnie. The trip into town is a long one.”

Recognizing that the conversation was over, Patrick took a bite of sandwich. He and Shelagh sat apart on the blanket, watching in silence as waves crashed into the shore. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little long, but I felt it all belonged together. Thanks for peeking in!!

He couldn’t watch her breathe. Her back was to him, her body completely resting on the second mattress of the two beds they had pushed together. They had barely spoken after their morning at the beach, and the evening proved strained as they tried to keep up a front for their coworkers. Patrick thought that perhaps Sister Julienne saw through the facade, though she appeared busy keeping up with Mother Mildred and did not take Shelagh aside for counsel. At bedtime he had waited for Shelagh to situate herself. He opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped himself, a flash of pique stabbing at him in remembrance of her dismissal of him.  _ I’m not even going to discuss it with you _ she said, and though he felt petty, he decided that he did not wish to discuss it with her, either.

They had both lain awake for some time, but eventually he dozed. He woke in the early morning hours, out of breath and in a panic. Heart pounding, he turned to Shelagh but her back faced him still and he dared not touch her, not after the day they had. He strained his eyes to try and watch her breathe. Relief washed over him as she twitched in sleep, moving her arm against her side. 

The sudden urge for a cigarette came to him and he rubbed his fingers together. Shelagh kept an emergency pack in her handbag. She thought he did not know about them and generally he did not think of them, but now, he longed to take one and disappear out into the night, to smoke and listen to the sound of the waves as they met the shore. Distantly, Fred snorted in his sleep, before all was silent again. Sleeping so closely with the others brought back memories of the War, of barracks and little privacy and the inescapable worry that would press down onto him. The night’s darkness pushed in closely now, but he closed his eyes and focused on his breath.

_ We’re not at war now, Patrick _ , Shelagh’s sweet voice whispered into his thoughts. She had said those words to him once and he meditated on them, carrying them in his heart as a type of touchstone.  _ We’re not at war now, Patrick. _

He removed his hand from under the blanket. His skin grew cold as he reached across the bed, stopping just short of Shelagh’s back.  _ It won’t happen again,  _ the memory in his mind said, and he hesitated, pulling his hand back across the gulf between them. No, there was not a war, he thought, settling against his pillow. There was not a war, but there was a divide.

Still, he did not sleep, body tense as he strained to hear her breathe. Her back remained turned until the room began to brighten with the first morning light.

  
  


\--

A line of women met them at the door of the hall, ready for Clinic. “Come in and settle yourselves,” Shelagh said, ushering the ladies inside. “We’ve only a quick set-up and then we’ll begin calling appointments.”

The chatter of the patients filled the chilly air as Patrick shrugged into his white coat. The nurses bustled about, pulling screens and setting out sterile instruments. Patrick took up his clipboard to look at the morning’s roster, but his eyes sought his wife instead. Generally she would check in with him and they might discuss a case or record, but she worked with Sister Julienne instead, setting up the weighing station. 

Breakfast had been awkward. He ate quietly, listening as Nurses Dyer and Anderson discussed the locals and their wish to integrate themselves further into the community. Mother Mildred had interjected, asking them to remind her of their ideas later, as they might prove helpful if the Order did find a place on the island. Shelagh took up the dishes, staying in the small kitchenette until it was time to walk to the clinic. She and Sister Julienne lagged behind as they walked. He lingered as they reached the hall, hearing Shelagh insist that “...all is well, Sister.”. 

Shelagh called the first patient as he set his clipboard on the counter. She caught his eye as she walked the expectant mother to a cubical, but quickly looked away. He started to follow her, but Nurse Franklin intercepted him, needing his opinion on a newborn with a rash. And so the morning went, one patient after the next, until he found himself in need of a cup of tea. His first thought was to invite Shelagh to join him, but his stomach clenched as he remembered their argument. He and Shelagh rarely fought or even disagreed, though often he felt that perhaps they both ignored any subject that might bring about upheaval. Their lives were chaotic enough, with the children, the practice, the maternity home, and their many obligations. They could not afford for minor squabbles to balloon, and so they tried their best to keep a calm and happy home. And now he felt unbalanced, unsure of how to proceed.

He stopped as he stepped into the kitchen, finding Mother Mildred seated at a table and Shelagh standing at the sink. A cold flush covered his body, but it was too late to turn away. “Mother Mildred,” he said, and then smiled weakly at his wife as she turned. “Shelagh. I thought a spot of tea might fortify me for the afternoon.”

“There’s nothing better!” Mother Mildred gestured to the teapot. “Made fresh by your good wife!” She grinned up at Shelagh. “In fact, it pleases me that you both find me here! I’ve rather forgotten to ask your opinion on our job advertisement, Doctor! Did you find it up to standard?” She leaned across the table as if conspiratorial. “Do you happen to know a doctor who might be interested?”

Shelagh’s saucer settled onto the counter. “I should relieve the other nurses,” she said, placing her spoon into the sink before leaving the room.

“The fresh air has completely cured the influenza!” Mother Mildred smiled as Shelagh left. “As I knew it would!” 

Irritated, Patrick tried to keep his face neutral. “We do seem past the worst of the flu, though most were well before we left Poplar. As for the advertisement, I did make a few notes. I’ll be sure to give them to you this evening.”

“Thank you, Doctor Turner. I await your suggestions!” She nodded toward the pot. “Tea?”

“Oh. Quite,” he said, pouring a cup. Leaning against the counter, he took a sip, listening politely as Mother Mildred mused on the clean air and its restorative powers. But as she talked his mind wandered to Shelagh and the evening ahead. Before handing the advertisement back to Mother Mildred he should share it with her. His initial excitement had outweighed his good judgement. It was little wonder that Shelagh reacted so negatively to his idea, since he had sprung it on her with no warning. Perhaps with time and an idea of what awaited them, she would be open to discussing it.

Placing his empty cup next to Shelagh’s, he nodded to Mother Mildred and headed back into the fray.

\--

An opportunity presented itself at the end of Clinic. Readying to leave for the evening, they all stopped as Mrs. Norrie carted a box of newly located medical records into the hall. “I don’t know what you’ll be doing with these,” she said, grimacing at the dusty box containing the records. “Who shall I leave them with?”

Shelagh stepped forward, thanking the older woman. “I’ll see that these are stored correctly,” she said, looking around the hall. “Though we may need to take them back to St. Faelan’s for the evening to sort and secure them.”

“They’ll stay here, where they belong!” Mrs. Norrie placed her hands on her hips. “I cannot risk that you will be unable to return them!”

Though her face did not change, Patrick could see the set to Shelagh’s shoulders change as she gathered herself to her full height. “Record keeping is a priority for us, Mrs. Norrie. We will keep them safe. Though I suppose staying in the hall to sort them would secure them from any unforeseen events.”

Mollified, Mrs. Norrie handed over a set of keys. “The file is in the small room to the back,” she said, nodding toward the far end of the hall. With that, she left, but not before frowning at the nurses as they donned their cloaks. 

“We’ll come back after our rounds,” Nurse Franklin said, but Patrick held out a hand to forstall her.

“Shelagh and I will stay behind and sort the records,” he said. “And, should you need assistance with any cases, we’ll be at a more central location than St. Faelan’s.” He looked to Shelagh, gauging her reaction.

She did not glance at him. “Thank you, Nurse Franklin. We’ll be back in time for dinner,” she said to the sisters who stood just inside the door.

Sister Julienne took a breath as if to speak, but nodded instead, a slight smile gracing her face as she and Mother Mildred left the hall with Fred.

Patrick feared an uncomfortable silence as the others departed, but Shelagh took control, digging into the boxes and making recommendations for how the information should be stored. She was always so correct with their Maternity Home and Surgery records that he knew to follow her lead, and soon they were sorting charts into piles, making good headway through the box. They had always worked well together, Patrick reflected, though at any other time the atmosphere between them would not be so stilted, so expectant. 

“That’s the records sorted,” he said, as he placed the last folder into its designated pile. “I’ll take them through to the cupboard.”

Shelagh nodded, gathering the papers for villagers that no longer lived on the island. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Norrie about these, though we’ll tuck them up here for the evening.”

“Best not to get on her bad side,” he agreed, smiling side-long at Shelagh.

Shelagh offered a small smile of her own, locking the obsolete files into a desk as he carried the folders into the back room. Back in the main hall he wiped his hands, making a face at the dusty grime. Shelagh seemed as fresh as ever, not a speck of dust on her uniform. His black suit had not fared as well, and so he detoured into the kitchen to clean up as Shelagh tidied the already immaculate hall.

Presentable once more, he looked to Shelagh with a hesitant grin. “Ah, before we go back to St. Faelan’s—“

A brief press of Shelagh’s lips had him speaking faster. “I thought to show you the advertisement for the doctor. I’ve been making notes on it for Mother Mildred.”

“Patrick, I don’t wish to discuss it.” 

He sighed. “I know I came on too strongly before, said too much, too quickly. The excitement overcame my good sense. But, Shelagh, there’s a real opportunity here. I’ve done all I can do in Poplar. The people are healthier and happier now than when I came in 1946. With hospital births on the rise and the future of the Maternity Home so uncertain…” he trailed off, fingers twitching until he rubbed his index finger and thumb together.

Shelagh’s gaze fell to his hands. “Patrick.” She looked concerned. “Where is this really coming from?”

He stilled his hands. “Think of the life we could have here! The work we could accomplish, Shelagh. We already know what works for an environment like this! We could expand upon that, bring real care! And our children—imagine having them grow up on such an island!”

“And what about Timothy? He’s already away at school!”

“He could work with us, Shelagh. It could be our legacy to him. And then we could really retire, in the fresh, clean air.”

“Oh, this is about your worry over my lungs? I am well, Patrick. It was only a flu.” Shelagh’s face was set.

“It could have been much more—”

“You weren’t so concerned about my health when  you left me to  carry the  entirety of our picnic  lunch from St. Faelan’s to the beach!” Shelagh inhaled deeply before sighing. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I know that you’re dealing with something right now, Patrick, and you’re building up a fantasy in your mind. But our lives are in Poplar. Our work is there and it is the right place for our family.”

Frustrated, he carded a hand through his hair. “I know what you’re thinking. You believe that I have jumped into something without thinking it through. And, yes, this is sudden. But, Shelagh this is not a flight-of-fancy. I really believe there is an opportunity for good here!”

As he paused, a pained smile passed over Shelagh’s face.

“What is it?”

“Oh,” she pressed her lips together. “I was just thinking of something Sister Evangelina used to say about you.” She closed her eyes briefly before looking at their bags. “We should leave to make it back for dinner.”

Annoyed, he picked up his bag. “What did Sister Evangelina say?”

Shelagh seemed to be weighing her words as she took up her own bag. “She said that you were full of grand schemes. I never quite believed it until now.”

\--

The baby’s cries woke him from a doze. For a moment he was confused, looking around for Teddy’s cot. Slowly the evening came back to him and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes and face. At last check Mrs. MacAskill had been resting well and the baby had taken his first bowel movement. All satisfactory and correct. Nurses Dyer and Anderson were helping with the baby’s feeds and so he had stolen away, taking a few moments to calm himself after the operation. Barring infection, Mrs. MacAskill would heal completely and she and her husband would make a life on their island for their small son. 

It was silent now, save for the crash of waves. In the silence he felt more clear-headed than he had done in some time. And in the aftermath of the harrowing evening, he felt old and foolish.

Living in his head was not a new experience for Patrick.  When he left the service he had done nothing but, surrounding himself with memories of broken flesh and bleeding wounds. There had been too much death and he could not reconcile it with life  until he entered Northfield and began his treatment.

He spread his hands in his lap, looking at each worn finger. He’d never told Marianne of his fear, never mentioned the panic that would build in him at the thought of his hands freezing. His hands had been cold after the war, only to warm again after treatment, after returning to Marianne and holding Timothy. Yet as much as he could stuff the fear into the past, it could sometimes rage again and so he must rub his fingers together to remind and ground himself. 

_ I fell in love with your hands _ , Shelagh  once told him, kissing his palm as he  finally shared with her his fear.  _ They’ll always be capable, Patrick. _

That memory alone could often chase the darkest of his fears away.  But the anxiety was not limited to his hands or even to the war. Shelagh’s  recent cough onset quickly, one Thursday afternoon at the surgery. He’d left his office to see her disappear into the WC, and his heart had started to pound. Long nights when she had been in the sanatorium came back to him then, fearing that she did not read his letters because she coughed scarlet blood into white tissues. 

His own flu was milder, but his age brought him low, making his recovery slower, harder. Retirement loomed before him. For that, he was not ready. He felt invigorated at work, bringing care and sharing his life’s work with his wife. It was all he ever hoped for and all so very fragile. In trying to recapture his youth he had been trying to recapture something that was gone. And yet, what was left was more precious than the thrill of change. Shelagh, their children, and Poplar were his home. 

Patrick took a deep breath, wishing that Shelagh were at his side. He looked at his watch. Half-four. Soon he would check on mother and baby once more, and then, perhaps at first light, he could leave the lighthouse and begin to set things to rights. 

\--

Shelagh met him outside of St. Faelan’s door. A genuine smile at her lips, she held out her hand and he took it, squeezing her fingers before they were pushed inside by the weary nurses and Fred. 

“Breakfast will soon be ready.” Shelagh tied a pinny behind her back. “Afterward, you’ll rest.”

Patrick smiled gratefully, but could not say all the things he wanted with their colleagues milling about. He caught Shelagh’s eye instead, hoping that she would see the change within him. The slight nod of her head soothed him and his shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours. Making his way into their bedspace, he washed up and changed his clothing, closing his eyes in relief as the scent of frying bacon gave him a true sense of home. 

The table was crowded as they all sat to eat. After grace, Mother Mildred spoke. “In my haste, I brought you here for what I termed a ‘fact-finding mission’. I am humble enough now to admit that I wanted rather more than that. I was certain our Order had a future here, but that was not His path. If my motives were less than forthright, I apologize to you now.” A general rumble of conciliation rose up from the table, but Mother Mildred was not finished. “A doctor will be moving from the mainland once the hiring process is completed. Dr. Turner,” she looked at him with a wry grin. “Thank you for your assistance with the advertisement. I’m certain the straight-forward language and specifications will draw the best candidates and not only those swayed, as our good Mrs. Norrie might say, by romantic notions of island living.” With that, she sighed before smiling round the table. “I thank you all for your efforts!”

Conversation began to flow as platters were passed, Christmas and new friends  at the forefront of everyone’s thoughts. He attempted to join in, laughing at some of their recent collective memories. But though the meal was welcome, Patrick felt exposed sitting among his workmates. Good friends, all, but there was only one he wished to talk with at the moment. He turned to find her deep in discussion with her former sisters. Shelagh was beautiful in profile, laughing with Sister Julienne.  The elder Sister looked at him with a gentle smile and he knew that she felt whatever rift between him and Shelagh had been mended.  His stomach clenched. They could not have a conversation here. The only privacy available would be in the van or… 

Shelagh faced him. “All right?” Her voice was soft, concerned.

“Come to the beach with me.” The words burst from him even as he kept his voice low, meant only for Shelagh’s ears. The others didn’t notice, the joyful expectancy of Christmas and home occupying them. “Another picnic,” he clarified. “A proper one, this time.”

“Oh, but we’ve only—” she gestured to the plates before them. 

“This afternoon, then. I’ll arrange it.”

Her smile was faint, but it was a start. 

—

The day was blustery, colder even than their first seaside picnic. Shelagh was bundled tightly into her coat, matching his steps as he scouted a new spot for their lunch. “Here?” He placed the basket and flask in the sand, raising his eyebrows to await Shelagh’s directions for the blanket.

Cold wind blew off the water as she pointed out a spot. She grabbed the end of the blanket to help him to place it on the ground. A draft billowed it and Patrick laughed, looking over the fluttering fabric to smile at his wife. 

“It’s a wee bit chilly for a picnic!” Shelagh twisted the blanket until they could finally set it to rights. “At last!”

“Sit quickly!” He laughed, scrambling onto the throw. 

“Oh!” Shelagh took up the flask. “Hot tea should warm us in a jiffy!”

The tea gave them something to do as Patrick tried to sort his thoughts. He and Shelagh sat close together on the picnic rug, but the divide was still there, smaller though it now seemed. 

Shelagh finished her drink and rubbed her gloved hands together, looking toward the sea. “It really is lovely here,” she offered.

He smiled at her opening gambit. She was always the braver of the two. Even when they met on the road after she left treatment she was the first to offer reassurance of their new relationship.  _ I know you so little, but I couldn’t be more certain. _ He wanted to see that certainty in her eyes again.

“It is,” he agreed, taking in the expanse around them. “I do think the children would love it here. For a visit.”

Shelagh nodded, turning fractionally toward him. “They would enjoy a holiday.” She reached for his hand. “Though perhaps when it’s a wee bit warmer!”

Patrick laughed and took a chance, moving closer. Shelagh leaned into him and so he rubbed his gloved thumb against her hand. 

“Mother Mildred is adamant,” she said, voice carrying over the crash of the waves. “This isn’t the place for the order. The health authorities are recruiting staff in the usual way.” She kept her eyes out to sea. 

He knew what she was trying to say. “The doctor will be a very lucky man.” The weight of the previous evening sat heavy on his shoulders as he continued. “I don’t envy him.”

Shelagh’s head turned slightly toward him, though she kept her gaze facing forward. “I wish I’d been there with you for the operation.” Her voice was soft and in the words she did not say he knew that she understood that he had once again faced his neurosis.

He scoffed. “You’d have got a glimpse of me as a younger man.”

She turned to him then. “Oh, really? And what was he like?”

Her voice had warmed, her humor and smile restored. “Scared,” he answered, confirming the suspicions he knew she carried. “Competent, but scared.” Clasping her hand further into his he leaned into her. “My hands are always warm now. I know what I'm doing. And I know where I belong.” Exhausted, he leaned his head against hers for a brief nuzzle. Shelagh exhaled and smiled, pressing her cold cheek to his. They breathed in tandem for a moment, bodies warming as they rested against one another.

Shelagh squeezed his hand. “What happened, Patrick?”

He knew that she was not referring to the operation. Sighing, he played with her fingers. “I suppose I thought I had a handle on my...condition,” he began, tracing back in his mind to that Thursday in the Surgery and Shelagh’s cough. “It’s been creeping up for a while now though I am ashamed to admit that I didn’t recognize it.”

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed about,” Shelagh rebuffed, pulling back to look into his eyes. 

His eyes dampened, sharp and cold in the wind. “It wasn’t only one thing that set me down this path. At first it was worry over the Maternity Home sitting empty.” 

“That was last month, Patrick!” Shelagh pressed her lips together. “You should have spoken with me then!”

“I should have,” he agreed, watching the heather sway in the wind. “It brought up thoughts of change and retirement… thoughts I wasn’t ready for.” He used his free hand to rub at his face. “And then you started to cough.”

“Oh, Patrick.” 

“I know,” he said, rubbing now at one eye. “I should have spoken. Only seeing to the children and making sure you were resting… and dealing with my own flu…” The excuses were flimsy, he knew. But Shelagh nuzzled in closer. 

“Tuberculosis has always been a fraught subject between us,” she said, lacing their fingers. “I should have known when you wanted to listen to my lungs.” She kissed his jaw. “I know it must also have brought back memories of Marianne.”

“Yes,” he managed, fresh tears stinging at his eyes. “I suppose I let the worry run away with me, and then, here we were, on this beautiful island. Starting anew seemed just the answer I was seeking.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “But I was terribly unfair to you.”

“You shocked me, yes.” She took a deep breath, as if gathering her own thoughts. “We’ve always made our decisions together. It never occurred to me that we might leave Poplar. And we know running away from our problems is never the solution.” She pulled back to look into his eyes. “But even if it ran away with you, you came back.” She took both his hands into hers. “Was the surgery so difficult?”

His hands flexed. “The operation itself was successful. But something about the remoteness of the lighthouse and the storm brought up those same concerns. After all this time I still fear my hands freezing when they’re needed most.”

“They didn’t, Patrick.” She tilted his chin until he met her gaze. “They won’t.”

“I believe it when you say it.”

“Good.” Waves crashed against the shore as they sat quietly, settling back onto the blanket together. “Patrick?”

He turned to her. 

“Won’t you talk with me the next time?”

Thinking of the nights he had lain awake, watching her breathe and of the days in the Hebrides that he had spent alone in his head, he nodded. “ I have thought that perhaps we don’t talk enough about the things we worry might unbalance our happy home.  I once told you I did not speak when I should have done. I fear I’m still learning that lesson.”

Her forehead creased in memory. “I believe I apologized to you then for not letting you speak.” She looked around the beach. “I suppose I’m still learning, too.  And yes, we should speak of things and not allow them to rankle. ”

“We’ll learn together,” he said, leaning in close. “Shelagh.” He cupped her face in his palm. 

Her eyes sparkled as he dipped his head, easing into a kiss. Cold lips met and parted, warmth building as they nestled in close.

“Goodness!” Shelagh pulled back some minutes later. “My glasses!” The lenses were fogged. She took them off and began to wipe them with her scarf. She mock-glared at Patrick as he laughed.

“Shall we look into the basket now? I managed to find the last packet of biscuits at St. Faelan’s as well as…” his mouth twisted. “Cheese and crackers?”

“I’ll make the picnic next time,” she teased, replacing her glasses. She nestled against him, her head resting against his shoulder. “Does it occur to you,” she began, tone mischievous, “that I actually knew you as a younger man?”

He laughed. “You’ve got me there! I only hope he made a good impression.”

“Oh, I’d say that Sister Bernadette found him to be competent, intelligent, capable—”

“Hm. I believe he would have said the same of the Sister. And definitely of Shelagh.”

“Oh! Charmer!” She grinned before sobering. “Whatever we face at home, with the Maternity Home, our health, or our children, we’ll face it together, Patrick.”

“Always together.” He kissed her temple. “Ready to head back?”

“No. Not yet.” Shelagh relaxed into his arms, reaching up to hold his hand as he rested it against her shoulder. “We’ll be home soon enough. Let’s stay here just a little longer.”


End file.
